Free Skinny by Donna Cooner Page A

constant companion. I should introduce them.
    “There’s something I’ve always wanted to say, Dad.”
    He leans in and pats the top of my plastic-covered head.
    “What, peanut?”
    I should be worried about something, but I’m not. I feel fine. Better than fine.
    “Dad,” I say. My mouth is dry. I lick my lips and try again louder. “Dad.”
    “I’m right here.”
    “There’s this fairy thing that sits on my shoulder and whispers in my ear. Bad things.”
    “He thinks you’re crazy-talking.”
    Another giant, blue-robed figure comes around the curtain.
    “You ready to go?” he asks.
    “I have to tell my dad something.”
    “Tell him quick. The operating room is waiting.” He unlocks the brakes on the hospital bed.
    My dad clears his throat. “I love you, Ever,” he says, and kisses me on the cheek.
    “I can hear her, Dad. In my ear.”
    He nods and smiles down at me.
    “He thinks it’s the drugs.”
    More people come into the room. I try to focus on my dad, but they start to roll the bed out from behind the curtains and down the hall.
    “I’ll be here when you get back.” He waves at me until the big doors swing shut behind my rolling feet, and he’s gone.
    “I need to tell him,” I mumble.
    The operating room is freezing. I know it, but I don’t really feel it. People move all around me. Some talk to me. Others don’t. They count to three and pull me over onto a flat table. Lying on my back, I squint up at the big lights. Someone behind my head says, “I’m going to put this mask over your face now, okay?” I guess I say okay because the mask comes down over my nose and mouth.
    “Now count backward from one hundred,” the voice behind my head continues. Obediently I start to count. One hundred . . . ninety-nine . . . ninety-eight . . .
    “Her name is Skinny,” I say. Then every thing goes black.

Chapter Eight
    I am aware of noises around me. I’m moving . . . rolling . . . somewhere. I need to throw up. I try to tell someone, but I can’t speak.
    “It’s okay. You’re all right,” a woman’s voice says in my ear.
    I open my eyes to see doors flying open in front of me. I’m alive but forever changed. I close my eyes again. The next time I open them, Dad and Charlotte are peering down at me. Rat is there, too, hanging around in the background. His face pops in and out of my line of vision every once in a while.
    “How are you feeling, peanut?” The furrowed line between my dad’s eyes seems deeper than I remember.
    “Not sure,” I mumble. “Am I skinny yet?”
    They laugh like I’ve made a very funny joke.
    A nurse leans into my line of sight and pushes something into my hand. I can’t look down at it because my head is not connected to my body.
    “Don’t be a hero,” she says. “Push the button to get the pain medicine.”
    I push the button in my hand. It doesn’t hurt anywhere yet, but I don’t want to feel any pain. My eyes feel heavy, and I close them again. When I open them again, Rat is sitting in a chair over by a window. It’s dark outside, and he is reading a book by lamplight.
    “What time is it?” I croak out.
    He startles. “Hey, you’re awake.”
    He gets out of the chair and comes over to smooth my hair back from my forehead. Even with the fuzziness in my brain, I know that doesn’t seem right. Rat’s never touched me like that before. It confuses me. I move away from his touch and punch the button in my hand.
    “It’s about eight. You’ve been sleeping for a while now.” His voice trails off as his eyes meet mine. I blink once — twice — trying to clear my vision. He looks worried, which is a strange look for Rat. “Your dad and Charlotte just went to get something to eat in the cafeteria. They won’t be gone long. Are you in any pain?”
    “I don’t think so.” His question reminds me to push the button in my hand again. Probably way too soon, but time is hazy right now and I’m scared.
    “The doctor came by earlier. He said